Jack suppressed a giggle at Scarecrow's rage. Mostly because he wasn't in the mood to have it directed at him. He wanted the Spookster to simmer in it and then direct it to where it was deserved. Right now, Jack thought, the slightest twitch in the wrong direction was going to get him beat over the head with a pen caddy. Dying by office supply wasn't his ideal way to go.
He turned in his seat, trying to get the vantage that he'd seen on the computer.
"There." Jack pointed. He had to stand up to look at the desk. He pointed at the one on the bookshelf, the one behind the patient chair and then turned. There was one in the plant, he thought he recalled, and he pointed at it. Then he turned his attention to the desk itself. "Plus the one that's got a nostril-eye view, and the one in your precious pumpkin."
He stayed standing. Something was going to get thrown, he could just feel it. He couldn't predict where it would go, but the impact - if it hit him - would be less if he was further away.